A Different Kind of Night Life
by Javelox
Summary: A Night Owl at heart, her Mom's new job in Dullsville was Jackie's nightmare. What kind of night life did such a town promise? Well, none, but when she meets Raven Madison, her problems quickly become Jackie's as well, and the night life she found was nothing like she was used to. Jagger/OC, Rated M for eventual smutty goodness. Updates every Saturday.
1. Dullsville Blues

AN: The POV will switch from 3rd to 1st person occasionally. This story begins right in the beginning of the 2nd book.

A change in environment is healthy, but rarely is it ever fun.

This rang true for Jacqueline, who had found herself unpacking her belongings in a sickeningly pale pink bedroom, within a beige house, within a dull town. It was a disaster. Of course, her guardian had agreed to let her paint the room and replace the carpet once they settled in. Yet, she had a feeling she'd never settle in a place like this. She had hardly stepped out of the moving truck when she felt eyes on her, raising the hairs on the back of her neck.

It wasn't surprising. Boredom Central, as she liked to call this quaint little town, was filled with a bunch of conservative clones, all sporting the same, name-brand clothes, with the same, dull-toned hair. With Jackie stepping in, her spiked pompadour dyed a brilliant shade of teal, a denim vest pulled over a black tank top and her combat boots adorned with spikes on the sides, well, she couldn't have expected anything **BUT** stares, except perhaps being burned at the stake. Though, she doubted they'd want to get the cheap hair gel on their perfectly ironed shirts by interacting with her.

She had no issues with "normal" people, even in large hordes. She did wish they'd be a little less obvious with their disapproval though. At least in New York, nobody had time to stare at each other, and her school had enough people to have a punk gang of it's own, a place where she belonged. Here, she felt like she'd be lynched just for her odd fashion choices.

Well, it didn't just limit itself to her clothes. Without the dull pink walls and stainless white carpet, her room was soon to be her little sanctuary. Her wrought iron bed rested right under her window, which she had just finished decorating with gray tartan curtains. Her dresser was sitting in the other corner, the drawers stacked up elsewhere in the house, probably next to the boxes with her clothes. Her various posters, wall-hangers, and other decorations were either scattered around her room or still in the moving truck, waiting for Rixie to push them into what was destined to be the living room.

With a delicacy she didn't usually display, she hefted up her Stratocaster Electric Guitar, a slick. navy blue with an autograph standing out upon it's rich color, scribbled in a silver sharpie. "_To Jackie, Rocking the Night Life. Billie Joe Armstrong._" She laughed when she read it, like always. She was twelve when she asked her idol to write that, and it was pretty cheesy, but she still valued it like her life depended on it. Gently, she placed it upon the display she had nailed to the wall earlier, strapping it securely and stepping back to admire her handiwork.

Even in a town that looks like the pastel fairy puked all over everything, her little mementos made it feel just as homey as her old apartment in New York.

"Jackie!" she heard her Mom, Rixiana, call from somewhere in the small house. She tore her gaze from her guitar, shoving boxes out of the way with her foot and stepping out of her bedroom door, calling down the hall.

"Aye?" she called back.

"Come here, I need you to grab some more of your things to make room for the couch." Jackie sighed, walking down the hallway and into the living room, where packages of all shapes and sizes rest in towers, more akin to a fort than a living room. She walked over to the stack with the most boxes labeled "J" and grabbed one, hefting it back to her room with a small nod to her Mom along the way. She smiled back, holding two boxes each twice the size of the one Jackie held.

That was something Jacqueline always admired about her adopted Mom. Jackie wasn't anywhere near weak, she actually had a decent musculature for a 17-year-old girl. Even so, Rixie was practically a bull when it came to strength. She was well over 6 feet tall, and she still managed to stay quite beautiful, even at 43. Her red hair was always in a messy bun, she was a bit wider around the waist than some women, and she went a little overboard on her lipstick sometimes, but she still looked damn good for her age. Plus, she was 207 lbs of pure German fury and could beat up anyone who had the gall to say otherwise. Win-win.

As she went to grab the 6th box, she saw Rixie dragging in the couch, while the mover was struggling to keep pace. Jackie smiled and went back to her room, opening the new assortment of packages and sorting things out. Clothes, books, boots, toiletries, make-up, the like. She worked until late sunset, sorting things, reassembling furniture, and taking the empty boxes out to the trash.

After her mother called to tell her to wrap up for the day, Jackie wiped the back of her forehead to get rid of the sweat and made her way to the living room. After a solid 9 hours of work from the both of them, most of the boxes were gone, and a lot of the living room furniture was placed. Jackie fell back onto the couch, ready to lay down and sleep, night life be damned. Besides, she doubted there was a "night life" in a town like this. Rixie popped her head out from the kitchen doorway.

"Don't you want dinner? You haven't eaten all day," Rixie said, her thick accent reminding Jackie once again how lucky she was that she didn't pick it up.

"Depends. Are we having spaghetti again?" Jackie asked, propping her feet up on the couch and stretching.

"I was thinking of ordering a pizza, but if you love my spaghetti **SO MUCH**, then I guess I can make some more." Her Mom's face lit up in a grin, and Jackie smiled right back.

"Extra Pepperoni."

"You hate pepperoni."

"Yeah. I need something else to complain about."

Rixie rolled her eyes, and held up a piece of paper in her hands. "If you want to complain about something, I'll go ahead and give you the news now. School on Tuesday."

"What?!" Jackie's eyes widened, and she darted up, her soreness vanishing with the urgency of NO. "It's Saturday! Don't we even get to settle in?"

"We got a lot done today, so we shouldn't need any extra time to unpack." Rixie shrugged, gave Jackie that stern "no-ifs-ands-or-buts" look that Moms seem to pull off so well, and retreated to the kitchen. Jackie groaned, running her hand through her aqua locks and burying her face in the couch cushions.

That ratty old apartment in New York sounded really comforting right now.


	2. Punk does not equal Goth

[1st Person POV]

Tuesday could not have come any faster, even if it took the express route. I adored my Pirates of the Caribbean alarm clock, but I came so close to throwing it out the window this morning even I was surprised at myself. Can't blame me, though. Who wants to wake up at 6 AM to go to a building full of unknown people who would no doubt stare at you all day? Oh, wait, actors. Well, we can't all be Johnny Depp, now can we?

Knowing Rixie would have yanked me out of bed herself if she had to, I got up and shuffled to the bathroom across the hall. I took a shower last night, so I wasn't worried about the big city stink on me, but I still jumped in, hoping the rush of water would be enough to wake me up for the day. Sure enough, my eyes split open when I got drenched with water that hadn't gotten the chance to warm up yet. After about 3 minutes of letting my face get wet while my hair stayed dry, I turned off the water and hopped out, drying myself with a towel from the rack. I grabbed my pajamas from the bathroom floor and tossed them into the dirty clothes bin as I walked back to my room.

I shuffled through my drawers, hoping I had gotten all my clothes out before, but knowing my luck, my favorites were probably in the last few unopened boxes. Today, though, luck was on my side, and I pulled out my Skeleton Key tank top, along with a spiked leather jacket, some torn-up black jeans, and a few other chains, buttons, and accessories to add. I may look like just a punk, but I take some pride in looking like the best goddamn punk there is. I was just tying up my boots when Rixie came in, holding up a manila envelope with a smile that I knew was forced.

"Looks like it came just in time," she said, holding the letter out to me. I opened it without bothering to look at the name. I held the object contained inside with a sense of glory, not even bothering with the letter. A motorcycle license, approved for this state, with my name and grinning face on it.

"Hell yes!" I shouted, not acknowledging Rixie's glare. I shoved the brand new license in my skull-themed wallet, right next to my old New York one. I was definitely more than happy to go to school now, knowing I could rev the loud engine of my darling Harley chopper along the way. Rixie left the room, likely to find ear plugs, while I applied my matte teal lipstick and put the final touches on my flawless (as always) appearance. After checking myself in my vanity mirror, and being more than pleased with how I look, I grabbed my keys from off my dresser and made my way to the garage.

There, gleaming from the sunrise light from the open door, was my pride and joy, almost as important to me as my Green Day-blessed guitar. A glossy black Night Rod, decked out with a blue underglow and a phoenix-shaped fender ornament. Harley Davidson might as well be using this on every single one of their ads. It took a lot of work to earn the money that made my baby what it is today, and one look is all I ever need to confirm it was So. Fucking. Worth. It.

I tugged my phone out of my jean pocket, checking the time. I'd get to school with about 20 minutes to spare, enough to get my schedule and whatever else I needed from the principle. I ran inside and grabbed my satchel off the table, slinging it over my shoulder as I ran back out to the garage and swiped my full-face motorcycle helmet off the handlebar. Sliding the helmet on my head, I jammed my key into the ignition and started it up, the engines purr sending tingles up my spine.

I clicked the garage door control button on my key-chain, and it wasn't even all the way open when I spotted neighbors, resting out on their porches, looking at me like there was a torture chamber in my garage. Their faces were whiter than the US Senate. I chuckled to myself as I pulled out of the garage and weaved around Mom's old Honda. Ah, that was clever. I'm clever.

I clicked the button and let the garage shut again before revving my engine as loud as I could and storming down the street. The neighbors might have been yelling their complaints, I couldn't tell over my engine, but who cares? They could use a wake up call.

I hadn't been hear long, but Rixie had driven me around just enough that I remembered where I could find the High School, which wasn't far from our house at all. I tried to count all the stares I was getting as I pulled into the parking lot and maneuvered into a spot near the front doors, but I could probably just settle for "everyone." I pulled my helmet off and fluffed my hair up with my fingers, yanking the key out of the ignition and sliding off the bike. I turned to walk through the front door, and despite their gawking, I smiled and waved to anyone who caught my eye.

Almost the second I stepped through the front door, all stares were directed towards me. Really, was my hair dye that bright? Even knowing it was nowhere near positive, I was pretty fond of the attention I got as I walked down the hall. Who knows, maybe it'd be enough to keep these Hollister-Model-wannabes from messing with me?

"Hey, Punky!" I guess not.

I whipped around, just in time to come face to face with a snobby boy, but a rather attractive one at that. His muscles screamed athlete, and everything else about him screamed "Not my type." I looked up in his eyes, not difficult, since I was hardly an inch shorter than him, if that. He was probably a senior like me, but it was hard to be sure. He looked at me oddly, not with disgust, but certainly not fondness.

"Let me guess, Monster Girl's cousin broke out of juvie and came to visit?" People began to gather, and their chuckles told that whoever this guy was had to be popular, because he sure wasn't funny. "I think you'll find people with your intelligence level at the elementary school, bonehead." More laughter. I arched my brows, put on my best "higher-than-thou" face, and spoke.

"I'm certain you find yourself amusing, but I regret to inform you that, should you ever feel the desire to make comment on my intelligence level again, you'll next find me shoving my copy of "Advanced Coding and Programming" so far up your ass that you'll cough up pages from the Graphical User Interface section for the next month." All laughter fell silent, and Blondie in front of me let his smile fall into a shocked "O" as I turned on my heel and walked along. To be honest, I wasn't dumb, but I wasn't nearly as smart as I just sounded. Apparently though, I knew just enough to make whoever-the-hell sound like a dumbass, and that was all that mattered.

I stepped into the principals office, and obviously I wasn't wanted in there any longer than I had to be, because the quickly secretary gave me a schedule and map, with a disgusted stare to match. Obviously these people have never seen leather before. Tucking my helmet under my arm and taking the papers, I left the office and glanced at my schedule to see what my locker would be. It took a minute, but I found the number and dialed in the combination, putting my helmet in. I grabbed a binder and some notebooks out of my bag before shoving that in too, slamming the locker shut.

My stare went the map, to room numbers, to other people staring, and back in a constant cycle. Eventually finding my class, 1st period Algebra 2, I walked in and greeted the teacher with a firm nod. "Mrs. Strelf" as the schedule referred to her, was one of the first to not openly gape at me, and instead waved me off to a seat near the back with a stiff "Welcome." Thank fuck, I was really starting to get tired of all the looks. I dropped my things on the desk and took a seat, pulling out my phone and playing games to burn off the remaining time before the bell rang.

Soon enough, the ding reverberated throughout the school, and I shoved my phone in my pocket, looking as people filled seats and turned forward. Blondie was here, and instead of paying attention to Mrs. Strelf's sharp, nasally voice, he was looking straight at me with something that could only be described as interest. We made eye contact, and he smiled before turning back towards the front. Well, fuck me sideways. A gesture like that only means one thing. Looks like I just made a rivalry with some popular snobby athlete. We have evolved from Nerd vs. Jock to Punk vs. Jock. What an accomplishment of modern day humans, someone please throw confetti.

All ingenious sarcasm aside, at least I'd have some form of interacting with someone that wasn't them staring at me. I haven't made a rivalry this quick since 3rd grade. I won't go into detail about that, but let's just say more blood was shed in that lunchroom than on a spartan battlefield. Or somebody could've spilled some ketchup in the fray, but I like my idea better.

My thoughts are rudely interrupted by the classroom door swinging open, and a timid-looking girl bursts in, looking like she was being chased by a horde of zombies. Now **that'd **be something to brighten up my school day.

"Sorry I'm late!" she said, dashing to her seat and sitting down as fast as she could. I smiled to myself, covering it strategically with my hand as I "scratched my nose." Mrs. Strelf went to close the classroom door, but apparently somebody else was outside, because she leaned against the door and motioned them in.

"Ah, how lovely of you to join us this morning, Raven. I can only assume Becky is late because of you?" The girl who shuffled in definitely resembled a zombie, and only further proved the comparison by acknowledging Mrs. Strelf's questions with a grunt. She was dressed head to toe in black, and she looked like she'd fit in better at a funeral than a classroom. Her make-up was sloppy, and she looked just as unwilling to be here as I was, besides the fact that my disdain was in my heart, and hers was all over her face. She didn't even look my way, just plopped into a chair and put her head down on the desk. Mrs. Strelf either wasn't looking, or didn't care, and just continued the lesson.

The notes in my notebook consisted more of half-hearted doodles and lists of celebrities I'd bang (like a screen door in a hurricane) than algebraic equations. After tiring of hearing the teacher explain shit I'd already heard in New York about a month before, I turned to look at all the faces in the room. Only one was looking back at me.

"Becky," I think the teacher called her. She was sitting half turned in her seat, her eyes set dead on me. Even me catching her staring didn't deter her, she just smiled and waved excitedly. Unsure of what else to do, I softly waved back, smiling but confused at the same time. I'd expect the Miss in Mourning to be excited to see me, someone who likely shared the same outcast status in this town, but this country girl right here? I'd be less surprised if she screamed and jumped out the window at the sight of me.

I turned back to my notes, a faint wisp of a smile on my lips. Forget rivalry, a friend is what I really need in this town. Not 5 minutes after our exchange, the bell rang, signifying "10 minutes to get to your next class," as stated by the school rules listed on the bottom of my schedule paper. I gathered my thing and stood, turning to realize Becky was right next to me.

"Hi!" she exclaimed cheerfully, looking up at me with wide, innocent eyes.

"Hey," I replied, still having no idea why this tiny girl was so interested in me.

"You're new." Duh. "What's your name? I'm-"

"Becky?" I grinned, heading for the door while she walked alongside. The Mourning Miss had apparently left already. "Name's Jack. S'pleasure." I checked my schedule, again trying to find the room number among a crowd of staring faces. Becky hadn't yet left my side.

"Hey Jack, did you see that girl who came in with me earlier?" Well, she cuts straight to business.

"Aye. Black Cat?" I found my classroom, standing outside the door while I waited for Becky to say whatever she was thinking. I was almost positive that she was the "Monster Girl" Blondie was talking about when we met.

"Well, that's my best friend, Raven." Oh no. Was she about to pull some "stay away from my best friend" shit? That seemed way too snobby and annoying for her, but still. I clenched my teeth and nodded, prompting her to continue with, hopefully, not that.

"Well, she's been in a bad mood lately. Her boyfriend's been busy, and they haven't seen each other." Huh, that kind of reaction to boyfriend troubles seemed more like something the cheerleaders would do, not a chick like Raven.

"So, what? Do you want me to drag her boyfriend out by his hair and shove him into a fancy restaurant with her?" I wasn't sure where she was going with this. Becky laughed and quickly shook her hands.

"No! No, I was hoping you could introduce yourself. Finding a goth like her would probably cheer her up."

"Woah there, buckaroo." I held my hand up, eyebrows knitted together in a firm, annoyed glare. "Goth. Punk. Not the same."

"Well, someone different?" she asked, looking more than unnerved at my expression. I tapped my finger idly again the side of my pointed septum ring, emphasizing her "different" point.

"You got that right," I said, only half-joking. "I'll hit her up, maybe work a little of my happy magic. Does she like balloon animals?" Ah, my ever bountiful reserves of sarcasm come in handy literally any time. Becky smiled and ran off, trying to get to her class before the bell rang. I turned back to the class door, and there he was; My rival. Mornings full of social interaction aren't exactly my cup of Monster energy, but hell, who turns down a good argument?

"Name's Trevor," he spoke first, self-confidence all over his stupid pretty face.

"The answer to a question I didn't ask," I responded, looked at my unpainted nails with disinterest.

"Well, I'm asking you."

"Jack."

"Oh, last I checked, I thought you had boobs." My eyes flickered up to meet his, both of us sharing the same shade of grassy green.

"Jackie, if you're so irritably insistent." I probably would have never used either of those words in conversation, but if he was convinced that I was a genius, I had to prove it. He grinned, leaning closer than I would have liked.

"So Jackie, you're new here, how about I take you on a tour of the town, say around 6?" I saw right through it. A date with the new, hard-to-get punk on her first day. Not so much an offer as it seems. A popularity spike, that's what that was.

"Why, _of course_, Trevor, darling! I would absolutely _love_ to be shown the finer points of this nice little town," I gushed, my voice **drenched **in sarcasm. To be honest, I didn't think this town _had_ any finer points.

"Great, I'll meet you out front the school." he smiled victoriously and left to go to his class, missing the "are-you-fucking-stupid" glance I was giving him. I sighed as I trudged into English, just in time for the bell.

Well, Sarcasm is like an airplane. Some people are on board, but for everyone else, it just goes over their heads.


	3. Operation Friendship

There was a never-ending list of differences between this little town here and New York. I could say literally anything about New York and nobody here would know a damn word I say. But, of course, there is one thing that, no matter where you go, or when you go there, will never change.

Cafeteria.

Any room filled with a bunch of teenagers, freedom, and food was going to be the same across the map, in California or Idaho. So I wasn't all that surprised when I walked in on such a hellfest. The administrators just sat at their own table as people shouted and ran around. I'm guessing they gave up on trying to keep them in check. I saw people doing their makeup, playing soccer in the corner, doing whatever the hell they wanted without punishment. Better than having two cops walking around, watching everyone. Well, even in the lunchroom, New York had it's differences.

I didn't bother stepping into the line to get food, because it looked long as hell, not to mention it wasn't exactly a line. It was more like a blob; maybe shaped like a puppy if I squinted hard enough. I instead shoved my hands into my pockets and tried to search over the crowd for Raven. It wasn't hard, the only black in the room besides the huge letters on the horrendously over-decorated "COME TO OUR LOCAL SOCCER GAME TONIGHT!" was a young girl sitting near the back corner. She was sitting by herself, and I felt a little twang of sorrow, knowing that even Becky had other things to do. So much for "best friend." I scratched the back on my neck and took a deep breath, approaching her table.

I easily found the lunchroom the best room in the school. At least here, everyone was too busy doing their own thing to stare at me. But they were persistent, and I found no less than 6 pairs of eyes on me at all times, from all over the lunchroom. If they haven't let up yet, this was probably just going to keep happening the rest of the year. They followed me as I approached Raven's table, and I washed them out of my mind as I sat next to her, resting my arms casually on the table. She had her head down, and must've either been sleeping, thinking, or dead, because she didn't react to my coming at all. I tapped her, and she turned her head a bit farther away. Well, that crosses "dead" off the list of possibilities.

"Go away Becky," she mumbled, obviously in a very non-social mood. I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair, tussling it up a bit more. I wasn't sure what to say yet, so I wasted some time for thinking by scanning the lunchroom.

I saw Trevor, sitting with what I could only assume was the soccer team. Really, EVERYWHERE ELSE had football, what was this towns obsession with soccer? At least Football has interesting things, like fights and concussions. Surprisingly, I found Becky at the same table. She was sitting next to a boy who must've been her boyfriend, unless sharing fries and kisses was "friend behavior" in this backwards-ass town. I wouldn't be surprised. My thoughts about the oddities that this town produced were shattered by a loud gasp right next to me, and I whipped my head back around.

Raven had apparently sat up while I was distracting mocking this towns obsession with over glorified kickball. She looked at me with utter shock, but slowly, her face delved into pleasant surprise, far from disapproving. That's a first here.

"Hi. Not Becky," I said proudly, holding out my hand for a shake. She grabbed it eagerly, holding it close to her chest like I just gave her a bouquet of black roses. **Somebody** seemed pretty goddamn happy.

"You can't be real, there's no way," she whispered, probably trying to convince herself that I was just a mirage inflicted by her loneliness, or some sort of punk rock guardian angel. I smiled, using my free hand to tap my forehead.

"I'm not real. I'm Jack. Real is a piss-poor excuse for a name and the parents of Real are obviously stoners." She smiled at me, and I grinned right back. I could already feel this friendship blossoming. She let go of my hand and sighed.

"Raven. You know, you're probably the first person I've seen besides me who isn't-"

"Boring as hell?" I finished, and she nodded. I smiled and looked out over the cafeteria, noticing a much higher amount of eyes on us than before. I doubt they heard my comment, they were probably just gaping at the freak-shows sitting together. Though, honestly, I couldn't see myself sitting with anyone else here, so I don't know why they're so surprised. As my eyes were glazing over the crowd, I noticed Becky and her boyfriend making their way over to our table, holding hands. Gross.

"Hey guys!" she called out, waving wildly with her free hand. I waved back, notably less enthusiastic, and they made themselves comfortable in the seats next to me.

"Hey, you're the new girl?" the guy asks, holding his hand out, "I'm Matt, Becky's boyfriend."

"I could tell," I said, shaking his hand firmly. It seemed more like a business handshake than a friendly one, but the kid was probably learning from his Dad.

"Hey, are you planning on going to the soccer game tonight?" God damn it. I knew he had some reason to make his way over. Before I could voice my objections, Becky cut in with encouragement.

"Yeah, Matt's team does really good, they're sure to win tonight!" Matt rubbed the back of his head in a modest gesture. "You have to go!"

"I, uh, I'm not a sports fan, see-"

"I'll be there." Raven cut in, causing me to look at her with a bit of relief. "She's new, so I guess she needs a while to get settled in."

"Well, alright." Matt said, nodding in understanding. Becky looked a bit more upset, but didn't dare object over Matt's speak-easy acceptance of my denial. They stood at the same time, and after interlocking hands once again, made their way back over to the soccer players. With a bit of jealousy I would never admit to feeling, I watched them go off. When I looked back at Raven, her face was a bit fallen, and she was staring at the table.

"Ya alright, Rave?" I asked, already feeling the sadness spreading over to me, like an aura. Damn, she changed emotions fast.

"Yeah. Well, no." She shook her head and leaned it on my shoulder, and the sudden show of affection-even though it was probably out of sadness-made me flinch a bit. I wasn't exactly used to friendly affection, because my posse in New York were never showing it.

"Come, tell Jack all your woes." I hesitated, maybe longer than necessary, before wrapping my arm around her shoulder and pulling her a bit closer. God, I hoped I was doing this whole sympathy thing right.

"My boyfriend." Well, that was expected. She must've been fawning over this boy like all hell, because I've never seen someone so depressed over their boyfriend being "busy," unless that meant he was cheating on her. In that case, I was ready to crack open a can of whoop-ass and sends fists of fury flying at somebodies face, clocking at 255 mph.

"He's been study-well. Can I trust you?" She looked up at me with hopeful eyes. Usually, my answer would be no. I am, if nothing else, a non-trustworthy person. But, hey, this seemed important. And, to be honest, nobody ever asked me for their trust before.

"I guess, I don't really have any reason to go blabbing." I rested my chin on my palm, leaning against the table with my eyes trained on her.

"Well, I need help." She looked down at her hands, puffing her cheeks up in a cute frustration. "He's not studying. He left town not even a week ago, and I don't know what to do. He didn't even say goodbye. I need help." Her voice shook, as though she was about to cry. "I want to tell Becky, but I know she'll try to ask me all sorts of stuff, stuff I can't tell her."

"So wait," I held my hands up to stop her, so I could get a clear picture of the situation, "Your boyfriend skipped town without a single bye, no explanation, no nothing, and now you're upset, because a boy had the nerve to leave you hanging?"

She nodded glumly. I folded my hands together and rested them on the table, biting my lip as I thought. This wasn't my type of situation. At all. Letting her trust me enough to tell me this was a big mistake, because the trust meant reliability. She needed help, and now she was hoping with all her aching little heart that I would be the one to provide it. I wasn't a damn relationship counselor! But, hey, this could be my first true friend here, and if you gave it a little thought, it was more a manhunt than a relationship mend. Wow, that last thought was empowering.

"Well, what are you doing moping around?" I stood up suddenly, causing her to recoil in shock. Her confused look said all the "whats?" and "huhs?" going through her mind, but before she could ask a single one, I put my hands on my hips and proudly declared the answer to every single one of her questions.

"We're going to find your Runaway Boy!"


	4. Partners in Crime

Anywhere else in Boring-burg, (or Dullsville, as Raven called it, and I had to admit the name was catchy) two girls hanging out in one's bedroom meant sharing make-up, secrets, and probably some sort of girl-only cooties. That was girl and girl, This was Raven and Jack. This was sitting in Jack's room, in her black bean-bags, notebook in one's hand, laptop in the other's, writing down anything and everything we could scrounge up about The Runaway Boy.

"So, here's what I got," I said, rubbing the pencil eraser against my forehead, "Alexander Sterling is a 16 year old boy, with long black hair, chocolate brown eyes. pale complexion, and likes to wear black. No photos (?) and is currently living with a creepy butler guy named Jameson who drives super slow. Their car is gone, the house is empty but with most furniture still hanging around, and they left no clues about where they went other than a note that says "HE IS COMING." For what we know, he could be in Romania, his homeland, or right in the next town over. Other key traits include a deadly allergy to garlic, he's a huge Night Owl, and he wears a spider ring that you gave him for Halloween on his hand."

"Yep, every bit of that is right," she said, almost painfully. I could understand that she missed him, and I'm glad that, despite how painful it must be for her to remember him, she's focused. I could respect that in someone, especially a young goth girl who can hardly be bothered to attend school. Determination, even if it's just to get back her boyfriend, is worthy of my attention.

"Well, I can come to a few conclusions." I made careful annotations on the paper under certain notes, much like I could do in school but I don't because really, who gives a shit? "As far as I know, you can't get permission to move from country to country without parental permission or presence. Plus, there's a ton of shit to go through to move countries, not to mention the car, so they can't have left the country overnight, there would have been some warning. They're still somewhere in this great old land of America." She nodded, tapping her fingers on the edge of the keyboard.

"Speaking of the car," I continued, "if they took the car, that must mean they didn't take a plane at all! If they were moving permanently, they would've took it, but then all the furniture would be gone, and again, there'd have been warning. If they were just leaving for a bit, on plane, it'd still be there, and they would've taken a taxi to the airport. So, they took an in-country trip, by car, temporarily. Considering that Old Creepster drives like a grandma, and that they never took a plane, they probably didn't go very far either." Damn, I was going Sherlock Holmes up in this bitch. I would call Raven Watson, but I don't think she'd take to kindly to that.

"No plane?" she asked, her shoulders visibly sagged, "That means we can't ask Ruby." Before I could even ask who that was, her shoulders rose to attention again in a quick second. "Ruby!"

"Who now?" A lead. Apparently my Sherlock Holmes level confusion had given Raven a lead. Despite the fact that this was actually me putting effort into hard work, it was interesting. Manhunts always were, yeah?

"Ruby works at the Travel Agency where I used to work," she explained, "She was supposed to have a date with Jameson, but they left before the date. She was stood up!"

"So you're saying she probably knows something?" I quickly jotted the information down, my eyes flicking between her and the page. Damn, being stood up in this town was probably nothing to laugh at. Or rather, it was always laughed at and the poor person who was stood up becomes a social pariah and has to live in the sewers. Either way, it was something worth looking into. I also thought to comment on the fact that she had a job, once upon a time, but that could wait.

"Probably," she said, reaching down to grab her boots, "I'll go to the Travel Agency and ask. Maybe Jameson left a phone number or something behind to use."

"Sounds likely." Really though, creepy butler man got a date with a powerhouse women who lives in Dullsville? I mean, I always heard opposites attract, but jeez. Travel Agent and Old Romanian Butler sounds like it belongs in a romantic comedy, and not one I'd be interested in seeing. When I glanced up from my notes, she was standing up and starting to leave.

"Oh, Raven," I said, looking over my notes carefully. I wasn't going to bring this up, but it seemed a bit too prominent.

"Yeah?" she stopped in her tracks, though she was obviously anxious to walk out my room and head over to the Travel Agency.

I tapped my pencil on the page, looking up at her with an impatient expression. Or it could have been a bitch face. I was told they look very similar on me. "Night Owl, allergic to garlic, wears black, no photos, comes from Romania," I straightened my back, arching a brow at her. "What exactly are you trying to sell on me here?"

"Uh," she started, looking around with shifty eyes, "nothing. It's just, he wears black and stays out at night because he likes vampires. The garlic was just a genetic allergy." She gulped, and looked back at me. "He has photos in his house, I just don't have any. He never gave me one."

Ah. All perfectly good explanations, except for how shady she was acting. If she was telling the truth, she wouldn't be acting the way she was. But, what other truth is there? Am I supposed to just accept the suspicion that her boyfriend's a vampire? I've met a few nutjobs in New York who claimed to be vampires, but the real thing seemed a bit hammy. Then again, I was always one to believe that nothing is impossible.

"Well, I'll buy that for now. But, when we find him, I'm using my phone to take a picture." I smiled at her panicked look, and waved her out the door. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone you're locking lips with a vamp. Now go get Ruby!"

She seemed unconvinced, but ran out my door and down the hall nonetheless. I reclined in the beanbag, looking over the notes carefully. Raven seemed perfect to be a vampire-obsessed teen, but if she was really concerned with finding her boyfriend (as I'm sure she was) then she'd leave the vampire antics behind. Then what other reason did she have to lie? I really didn't like considering it, because it was so damn ridiculous. But, forgetting all that for one second, just one second, I wrote something down on the paper, near the bottom.

_"Vampire?"_


	5. Wanna Fight About It?

_"Vampire?"_

As if the word itself was a bad omen, I felt a chill run up my back, hitting over every knob in my spine and raising the hairs on my neck like the undead rising from the grave. Not a lot of stuff gave me such a chill, so my body was uncontrollably shaking long after the initial chill passed, and it didn't look like it would stop any time soon.

Quietly, I placed the notebook on my desk and crawled into bed. I wasn't tired, oh no. I just remembered the accidentally accepted date I had in about 2 hours. My popularity wasn't exactly, y'know, existent, but if I stood up my rival on the soccer team, there would likely be some sort of repercussion. But, and forgive me for sounding like a whiny teen, I don't waaannaaaaaaa.

But, if nothing else, it was a chance to fuck with him, and hey, it was a bit hard to pass that up.

In fact, I was fully prepared to go and pull a prank on him, and just as I was shrugging on a denim vest, my front door practically shook with knocks. Rixie was out at her new job, working in real estate, (the specifics were vague to me) so I was to one who had to rush to the door, putting in a steel eyebrow stud as I ran.

"I know where to look!" I heard before the door opened enough to view the person on the other side. Raven looked so excited she was probably about to piss her black miniskirt. Before I could ask who or how or, most importantly, where, she shoved a paper in my face. It was a delivery order for "FLOWER POWER" and how she got it was probably better left unsaid. Though, if she shanked a van driver for a delivery order, it'd be pretty sweet.

"Look at that number at the top," she exclaimed, interrupting my shank-related thoughts. It was a simple number, nothing extraordinary, but it WAS the only piece of information on the paper. Odd.

"Uh, you know where it leads?" I asked, flipping the paper over to inspect for any other clues. She walked in beside me, closing the door.

"The Coffin Club," she announced, like the most drastic revelation of the century. But, the dramatic effect must've been lost when I stared at her in confusion. She quickly gathered herself to explain.

"It's this goth nightclub in a town not too far from here. My Aunt Libby lives there, so we can go on spring break!"

We. That threw me off, and I had to pull myself back. We were going to go. Us. Both. She was planning to-

Meh, fuck it. Not like I had any other plans. No reason to make a big deal.

"Uh huh. Lets revise that plan, Rave, we gotta be thorough," I motioned for her to follow me back to my room, where I pulled back my notebook. That scribbled word shouldn't be as scary as it was, and I quickly turned the page; half so Raven wouldn't see, and half that I wouldn't either. I yanked my vest off, throwing it on top of the boots I was about to put on, and began to write.

"First, spring break starts this weekend. If Alex isn't back by then, we can take my motorcycle and go up to wherever the hell-"

"Hipsterville," she interrupted, then quickly gave me the unabridged version of the town name and let me continue.

"-Hipsterville, which I'll GPS. Hope its sunny. Next, we go to your Aunt Libby's place, but I don't think she'll appreciate a punk kid you just met today crashing at her place."

"No, Aunt Libby is really cool. She's not like my Dad at all, and they're siblings." She shrugged, then hugged her knees. "Very hippie."

"Well, in that case," I scribbled out that thought, and continued. "We track Alexander via the Coffin Club, and get his pale ass back to Dullsville. Now, it seems flawless, but there's an issue or two." I held up my fingers, counting all the immediate problems I caught.

"One. Nightclub. You need an ID to get in."

She gasped, covering her mouth. "We don't have ID's!"

"No," I admonished, pulling out my wallet. "YOU don't have an ID." I was only 17, in truth. But according to the fake ID I had forged back in New York for nightclubs, which I was now displaying proudly to my goth friend, I was 19,and this barricade wouldn't trouble me.

"Two," I began, shoving the card back in my wallet, "Alexander will probably be hard to find among all that black, and even then, Three, how are we gonna convince him to come home?"

That stumped her. She visibly slouched, and her eyes cast down to the floor. I immediately fell bad, planting that seed of doubt in her hopeful mind. I quickly spoke to cover my mistake.

"Well, hell, if one look at you isn't enough to make him want to come home, he's out of his mind." She smiled, and I secretly thanked myself for quick thinking. She reinflated, sitting up straight and grabbing my notepad for extensive study of our plan.

"I'll call my Aunt Libby tonight, and maybe arrange for both of us!" She said, standing up to depart. I followed her to the front door, chatting about the trip, and how we had to make sure to check the weather (taking road trips on a motorcycle was tedious in the rain, I say from experience.) and finally, with a last farewell, I opened the front door for her to be greeted by my rival.

"Figures you'd know where I live, stalker." I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorframe, ignoring Ravens protests and questions.

"It's not a big town, everyone knows where the newcomers live." Well, THAT was a comforting statement.

"Yeah, nice of you to drop by. I'm kinda busy with Raven, our little outing is on last minute cancel," I said, and he scoffed.

"Figures you and Monster Girl would find each other on the first day. Freaks stick together, I guess." Raven probably would've backed away, or maybe, if she was feeling daring, flipped him off. She seemed passive in his face, or maybe assertive, but not aggressive. Me?

Oh, I was aggressive.

No mistake. A passive person doesn't run up and tackle a star soccer player on her front lawn. A passive person doesn't put him in a headlock and start wailing on him. And a passive person DEFINITELY doesn't struggle when someone starts pulling her away from the fight.

"Young Lady!" I heard through the ringing in my ears, and though I was still pretty pissed, I stopped swinging and just settled in the arms confining me. The fight was over, and I got the few good hits on him I wanted. No need to make things worse than they already were going to be.

It was my neighbor who was breaking up the fight. He laid me on the lawn and dashed off. Once my vision cleared, the first person I saw was Raven, who was standing over me and asking if I was okay in a panicked state. I blinked, muttered something along the lines of "fine," and coughed. I guessed Trevor landed a hit on my gut in the fray, I couldnt be sure.

As if unconsciously sating my curiosity, my eyes flicked over to where Trevor lay on the lawn, being tended to by my neighbor. He was clutching his eye with one hand and stomach with the other. That was bullshit, because I know I didn't hit his stomach, but I was too disoriented to call him out on his faking. His face was contorted in pain, and his perfect blond hair was disheveled and knotted. Well, at least he knows now that my rivalries aren't soft.

"Your mother will be hearing of this, young lady!" I heard as Raven helped me stand. I grunted, and the revelation hit both me and Raven at the same time. Anger turned to despair. Fight means grounded. Grounded means no trip. No trip means...well. No trip.

"I'm so sorry Raven!" I said, still very dizzy from the adrenaline rush. She didn't say anything, only helped me back to my house as I stuttered out apologies. Trevor called something from the lawn, but I ignored him. He wasn't important. Not now.

"It's fine, " she said finally as we walked inside, but her tone of disappointment betrayed her, "I can get a bus to Aunt Libby's. Don't worry. I can do it." With that, she walked out the door, leaving me behind to wallow in guilt, something I was hardly used to feeling.


	6. Can't Stop Won't Stop

This was the worst thing ever.

Not being stuck in my room, not losing my TV privledges. I mean, not even Rixie's yelling could compare, but that was no dog walk on the psyche either. DAMN, did that woman have some lung power. She even blamed me of ruining their hope for a normal lifestyle in this town. It hurt, mostly because I knew she was right.

Yet, it wasn't any of that stuff that concerned me. No, it would've been the death of me otherwise, but the circumstances were different this time. Before anything else I felt, I was disappointed in myself for letting my new friend down. I was only in town for less than a week and I'd already fucked everything up.

Raven was my only chance here of a friend I could relate to, and I blew it. All for some stupid soccer snob who doesn't know how to keep his mouth shut. Two years ago, I would have blamed him for everything, but I wasn't a child any more. I was mature, on some levels, and I knew when shit was my fault. What he said didn't deserve the attention I gave it, and now I was regretting it more than anything else in the world.

My brooding thoughts were interrupted when my cellphone, the one electronic Rixie didn't confiscate, rang from my dresser. I pulled myself off my bed, in my pajamas despite how early it was, and picked up my phone and checked the caller ID. I smiled, for maybe the first time since I was left alone at my front door, and answered it.

"Hey-a," I said, adjusting my "Soda Pop Bop" baby blue pajama pants. Hey, it was a thrift shop purchase, and in my defense they are hella comfortable.

"Jack-Quell-Lin! What's good?" My Yorkie friend shouted into the phone, and i flinched a little bit. It was a wonder how he hadn't burst my eardrums, since he was pretty much always that loud.

"Nothing's good, 'Gene," I muttered, falling onto the bed without a hint of grace. We had a policy of honesty, see, and I hate to be a downer, but I uphold it.

"Damn, new place that bad?"

"Naw, it's great. I just fucked it up for myself."

"What'd you do?"

"Beat down a chump fool. I'm grounded."

There was a pause on the other end. Then, in an unsympathetic voice, "Figures."

"Not like it's forever, but I had some important shit coming up on spring break." I pushed myself so my back was against the wall, looking out the window at the empty street. The sun was just setting, and the sky was starting to hit a purple tint.

"Well damn, Jack, why you lettin' a door and some rules stop you?"

"Eugene, listen-"

"Nah, you listen. You ain't never let no grounding stop you from doing what you need to get done. Don't go soft on me." This...struck something in me, I think. A bit of inspiration, if you will. I was silent for a second, thinking about this, before I sat up straight and slid to the edge of the bed.

"I'll call you back soon, Young 'Gene. I got some shit to get done."

"Damn right you do." I hung up the phone, grabbing the pair of socks I wore to school this morning and pulling them on my feet. I pulled on my boots, more quietly, and slid open my window. The second my boots hit the grass outside, I began to sprint, not risking Rixie hearing the noise of my motorcycle. The school stadiums lights blared in the distance, and I found it easy to run to where I was headed.

The soccer game.

I pulled into the school parking lot, and even from the other end I heard the cheers of what was probably 80% of the towns population. I jumped off and ran to the edge of the fence, scaling it when the security guard at the gate was too busy watching the game to do his damn job.

Trevor was there, and though his eye was blackened, he seemed to be doing just as good a job as he does normally. I mean, I don't know a damn thing about soccer, so he could be awful. Whatever the case, I wasn't interested on wasting more time with that cock jockey anyway. I was here for Raven.

I spotted her, black and red glory, near the top of the stands, looking particularly mopey. I ran up behind the bleachers and jumped, my fingers just barely grazed against her lower back, but it seemed to get her attention. She turned around and, upon seeing me, her face lit up.

"Jack!" she said excitedly, jumping over the bleachers and landing next to me. She reached up and gave me a tight hug, and despite how odd this felt, I returned it. "I thought you were grounded!"

"That's the thing," I said, pulling away from the hug and putting my hands on her shoulders, "I am. That's why I had to sneak my way over here."

Her face fell again. That disappointment and sorrow was pasted all over her expression, and those heavy pangs of guilt assaulted my heart full force.

"But," I raised a finger, winking at her, "I'm not letting that stop me. You need to find Alexander. I'm sneaking out to get you to Hipsterville."

"What!" she exclaimed, surprise replacing her disappointment. "But-"

"I don't care if I'll get into more trouble. This is worth it. I'm sorry for the fight, but it's done, and I need to move past it anyway. Besides, how are you going to get into the club?" I crossed my arms and waited patiently for her answer. She tapped her fingers together and looked at the ground, like a kid caught doing something wrong.

"I-I was gonna get my brothers friend to make a fake ID..." she muttered, and I scoffed.

"Like that'd work. Bouncers are tough cookies Raven. You can't take a picture two days before you go, it'll have "FORGED" written all over it. I'll go in and find him. It won't be easy, since I don't have pictures," I paused to give her a small glare, "but as long as your descriptions are specific, it's probably possible."

"Jack," she began, looking up at me like I was the greatest thing on the planet, "You really don't have to do that, it's too cool of you."

"Nonsense, I'm doing it, no arguments." I reached forward, gave her the tightest hug I could, and turned towards the fence. "I gotta get back home before Mom notices I'm out. I'll call your house phone and give you updates, okay?"

"Okay!" I heard as I climbed up the fence. I hopped over, and just as I was about to start running back, I heard her add "Nice Pajamas!"

"Damn right they are!" I called back, smiling like an idiot the whole way home. I was a bit more quiet slipping back in my window, but it didn't seem to matter. Rixie was probably sleeping, early like always since she got this new job, or watching TV. Either way, I got back in unnoticed.

I turned on my light, and the first thing I took notice of was my still open notebook on my dresser. I had left it there, detailing all the notes on our trip. I picked it up, and flipped the page over. That word was still there, almost mocking me from the page. I resisted the chill I got this time, and threw the notebook on my desk, crawling into bed while I kicked my boots off. I wasn't afraid of any goddamn vampires, real or not.


	7. Mission Impossible

Spring Break has officially begun.

My punishment had not been lifted, despite begging Rixie that Senior Spring Break was supposed to be the greatest one of all time. So, I was meant to be stuck inside all spring break, playing games on my phone and moping. That's what Rixie thought I was doing when she left for work the first Saturday morning of spring break. But what she didn't know won't hurt her.

Instead of playing phone games, I was adjusting a green plaid button-up shirt and pulling on some torn and faded jeans. Instead of moping, I was putting everything I'd need into my school satchel, including clothes, my notebook, phone charger, a switchblade, and some hair gel to keep my teal undercut looking good. I was a minimalist when it came to travel. Mostly because motorcycles don't have a lot of storage space.

I also made sure to grab my money, the same wad of cash that I was saving for my next motorcycle upgrade to pay for this trip. Big sacrifice. I shoved it all, about 700$ worth of labor from my part-time in New York, into my wallet, and shoved that into the front pocket of the satchel. After making sure all the zippers were secure, I pulled on some brown boots and pulled the messenger bag on over my head. I grabbed my keys and my aviator sunglasses, and headed out to the garage.

I hopped on the chopper and pulled on my sunglasses, knowing full well Raven would need my helmet. I put the helmet in my lap, stuck the keys in the ignition, and opened the garage door, cruising out and down the street towards Raven's house. When I got out front, she was already waiting, a backpack on her back. I handed her the helmet and she put it on, clearly excited to be on a motorcycle. She slid on behind me, wrapping her arms around my midsection. I smiled at her, revved the engine once, and drove down the street, handing her my phone and instructing her to give me directions.

I couldn't exactly say it was eventful, it wasn't. I had given my mp3 player to Raven to listen to, so I was left with nothing but the signs I was looking out for and my own thoughts. I tried to keep an eye on the road, but every now and again, when we were on the highway and I didn't need to be on close watch for signs, I'd let myself focus on my own mind. Particularly, what I was feeling; and that was dread.

I was excited, but still yet, I wasn't sure I even wanted to go. Nothing logically, besides being grounded, was holding me back, but I felt something odd that was compelling me to turn around and go back. Maybe some ESP shit that was telling me something wrong was in the city? Maybe zombies. Maybe Godzilla was attacking at this very MOMENT. Gosh, I sure hope Raven didn't notice my sudden increase of speed.

As we got closer to our destination though, I began to notice how that eerie foreboding was melting away into...attraction? Not like "I'm gonna fuck the city" kind of thing, but a magnetic pull, drawing me closer despite my earlier feeling to get away. I ignored both, hoping I could just drive in peace without weird future-related urges affecting me.

We drove for a while, only stopping for gas and snacks, and our only communication was Raven pointing at exits and lanes. The fact that she had a face-covering helmet on didn't exactly help the conversation aspect of our trip either. Finally, a sign showed up on my left, indicating that we have reached our destination. It certainly looked more like New York, at least compared to Dullsville. It was a mixing place, no two people were alike. The polar opposite of Dullsville's endless supply of clones. I hardly had time to take in the scenery, mostly because I was trying to pay attention to Raven's directions.

As we drove to Libby's place, I took note of the scenery, particularly looking for a specific goth club. As Raven pointed me to the left, I saw it just around the corner, not operating at this time of day. I looked around, making sure I could recognize where it was, before speeding up and getting to the address she gave me. It was an apartment in the middle of a street of row-houses, and there was a very youthful looking woman waiting out front. I turned and parked, and Raven was jumping off my bike before I had even braked.

"Aunt Libby!" I heard as I put it into park and took my key out. I adjusted my sunglasses and smiled. Raven had taken the helmet off and was hugging the (as hippie as Raven told me she was) woman tightly. Family reunions were always kind of adorable. I adjusted my messenger bag, awkwardly walking up and holding out my hand.

"Hi, I'm Jacqueline," I said as politely as possible, "but you can just call me Jack." Surprising me, she reached forward and pulled me into a hug, as if we'd been friends for years.

"Hey! Raven told me a lot about you over the phone. You look every bit as punk rock as she described!" She threw her hands up into a "Rock On" sign and I snorted when I tried to hold in my laughter.

'Thanks, I try," I said, a little shy for probably the first time since I was 4. I rubbed the back of my head and looked at my boots, doing everything short of hiding behind Raven for protection. Kids and teens could be one thing, but I wasn't used to**adults** being so accepting of me at first glance. How very Zen of her. She smiled and clapped her hands, motioning us inside her apartment building.

"Well, come on! I'll get you two set up, then we can go out on the town! I'll buy."


	8. Girls Day Out

Okay, so first thought in my mind: Aunt Libby (She insisted I call her that, related or not) was WAY too nice.

I bet you WISH some lady you met two hours ago took you to punk stores and got you new clothes, jewelry for all your piercings (even the lip ones that your Mom hates!) and took you to get black tips in your hair. Well, you probably don't wish that. But **I **sure as hell do. I mean, the lady even let me get a collar and cuff set! I almost feel like a little kid in a toy store, until I remember that the reason Rixie wouldn't get me a spiked collar in the first place is because she was afraid I would use it for some kinky sex shit. If a little kid gives you that fear, you may have to put them through therapy.

All ridiculously expanded metaphors aside, I couldn't be happier. I was practically skipping out of the store, with two huge shopping bags filled with new shirts, jackets, rings, studs, and a pair of boots. Raven, being the goth girl she is, had a little bag of things herself from that store, deciding to go a bit out of her comfort zone. Most of her selections were from Hot Gothics, but hey, I don't hate. Even so, I couldn't get into all the black and death and whatever. I'm more black-plus-bold-colors-that-makes-guys-eyes-explode-before-they-can-stare-at-my-boobs. Black may be a good portion of my wardrobe, but I couldn't live like I came straight out of a funeral parlor every day. Too Creature of the Night. It sure as hell suited Raven though.

Both of our wardrobes suited us well, or at least I thought. Raven could pull off goth like Lady Gaga, with whatever fashion voodoo and superstar magic, could pull off meat. My fashion didn't really have a lot of pulling off, just do. I wore minimal make-up, besides lipstick, and most of my clothes were baggy, I-couldn't-give-less-of-a-fuck clothes I just threw on. I threw them on with flair and style, but I still just threw them on. It's just coincidence that I always look good. Or maybe I just have one of those "everything looks good on you" faces. Whatever the case, I was sexy. These new additions to my closet were only going to accentuate my sexiness.

Now I could identify with those Aberzombie & Bitch clones back in Dullsville. This was the rush they got whenever they went out and got the newest polo or plaid skirt. My black tips were their dirty blonde highlights. I guess we're all the same on the inside, or some other deep shit. I don't know, Zen wisdom is probably Aunt Libby's thing. I should stick to clever metaphors and snarky one-liners, since they were more of my forte.

We tucked into Aunt Libby's small apartment, where we put our bags down on the floor and squeezed onto the couch while we kicked out shoes off. I sat up on the armrest, taking my sunglasses off and letting my eyes adjust to the change in light. Aunt Libby was talking about us sleeping on the couch, and how we'd have to share the roll-out bed. I was only half listening, to be honest, and I think Raven was doing the same. We were both focused on the something else entirely.

"Alright you two, get situated. I'm going back to my room for some R & R, I'll be out in a while," Aunt Libby told us warmly, then shuffled back down some hallway to what I assumed was her room. As soon as we heard the door close, I sprang into action.

"Alright, we're here. What are our leads besides the Coffin Club?" I say quickly, yanking my notebook out of my satchel and flipping it open. We probably could have discussed this before we came, but now that I was here, I was probably much more likely to understand what the fuck she was talking about. For once.

"Well, I'll go to the Historical Society tomorrow, to see what kind of old, vacant houses are around."

"Why?"

"Because they'd be attracted to that like moths to a flame! Haven't you seen the mansion back in Dullsville?" she sighed, like she was imagining a dreamland. I shrugged, writing it down nonetheless. They wouldn't need a house unless they were leaving permanently, no? Ah, well. Raven knew him better than I did. But still, if this were the case, I'd still say they're pretty damn weird.

"I'll go to the Coffin Club tonight. If she asks where I'm going, I'll just say an all-night diner."  
"Go to the Nifty Fifties Diner, we passed it in-between the Punk Trunk and Hot Gothics. Bring back something for me."  
"Do you not like your Aunt's cooking or something?"  
"Not that! You just have to make it look believable."  
"Right."

I jumped off the couch leg and stretched, shrugging off my button-up to show the plain white tank top underneath. Our plan was simple, efficient, and easy to remember. Raven was supposed to go to her Aunt Libby's performance of "Dracula" while I "got used to the shift in environment" AKA sneak off to the goth club. When I explained to Aunt Libby that I was a big city chick, she told me I could just explore for a bit to take in the big city again, she knew how Dullsville was. I could go see her performance tomorrow.

There was, still, flaws with our plan. For one, I still had no idea what Alexander or his creepy butler man looked like. Goths had a tendency to flock together, and it'd be hard to pick out one face from the rest. The only defining feature I had was a spider ring, and even that wasn't helpful. Second problem. If I was going to get into a goth club, I needed to look like it. Then again, I was damn near 6 feet tall, so wearing Raven's clothes would be out of the question. Thankfully, I thought ahead and tried to grab a little more black than was usually in my wardrobe in the Punk Trunk today, so I wouldn't have to worry. I picked up one of my bags, checked inside to make sure it had what I needed, and went into the bathroom to change.


	9. Change in Environment

I had to be very careful about what I wore. Black, black, with a touch of black would scream "HEY GUESS WHAT UNDERAGE LITTLE PUNK CHILD GOING TO THE GOTH NIGHTCLUB HURR HURR" right into Aunt Libby's face. Then, my normal attire would probably scream "HAHAHA GUESS WHO DOESN'T BELONG HERE" into the faces of a bunch of nightclubbers. I couldn't win, my clothes would be screaming in someone's face no matter what. So, best of both worlds. Hannah Montana would be proud, I'm sure.

I stripped down naked, throwing my old clothes to the side of the shower and putting the bag on the toilet seat. I yanked out my first new prize, a lacy, black bra & pantie lingerie set, complete with garter belt and thigh highs. Damn, for only knowing her for about four hours, I was WAY too comfortable with Aunt Libby buying me stuff. I made a mental note to shove this in the bottom of my bag before I head home. Mom's already going to blow a gasket, I don't want her killing me too.

I slid everything on with a bit of uncertainty, having no reason to dress this sexy before, and to be honest, I wasn't sure like I was starting now. Not like I was planning on seducing the club manager for information on where Alexander is. I shuddered at the thought. Interrogation is meant to be done with fists, not boobs. As I attached the straps to the thigh highs, I really started hoping I could get away with wearing pants instead of the black skirt Raven helped me pick out. Well, probably not. She'd scalp me if I walked out of here without wearing her own carefully selected outfit for my undercover infiltration.

I pulled the skirt out of the bag, pouting a bit. It was a black mid-thigh length skirt, with a studded purple belt. I hesitantly slipped into it, pacing the length of the bathroom to try to get a feel for it, but it was useless. I haven't worn a skirt since my Kindergarten graduation. I sighed and yanked out the tank top I was putting over it. It was covered in a bunch of purple bat silhouettes, and again I sighed and ruffled up my teal hair. It would match, but I wasn't a huge fan of the purple and teal combo. I always strayed to green when it came to clothes.

I tugged everything on, and I re-laced my boots to replace the regular black laces for the new purple ones we snatched today. When all was said and done, I attached my new spiked collar around my neck, threw on a couple rubber band bracelets, and looked at myself in the mirror. I felt like I was on Extreme Makeovers. I looked down at my old, worn clothes on the floor and frowned, wishing they could be on my skin instead of this stuff. No offense to Raven, but she could keep her style to herself, my body and mind were definitely rejecting it.

I was putting on matte black lipstick when someone knocked on the bathroom door. I called out for them to come in, and Raven walked in to examine my outfit. She looked like a gushing Ma on picture day, and I could definitely say I felt like an embarrassed kid.

"I think it fits you," she said after she complimented literally every detail of my appearance.

"Yeaaahh, I don't know how often I'll wear this," seeing Raven's hurt look , I quickly added, "I'm not big on skirts."

"Don't worry, you'll get used to them. I'll go ahead and tell Aunt Libby you're going, okay?"

"You do that," I muttered, picked up my old clothes and shoving them in the bag. She turned and went back to Aunt Libby's room, while I trudged out to the living room and put the bag next to the others. I tugged on a new black hoodie, so I'd have somewhere to put my wallet and phone, and walked out the door before Raven could come back in and complain that I ruined the outfit. At least Aunt Libby wouldn't have to witness my embarrassment and shame.

Walking through the city streets at night was nothing new to me. I had a night job in New York once, so through that, I knew a thing or two about self defense. But it relied mostly on my strength, I didn't have the balance, or the agility, or the motivation to learn kung fu or jiu jitsu or whatever, I mostly just aimed a punch for the face, a knee to the gonads and ran. I've done that before, it generally works.

My phone vibrated just as I turned the corner onto Amity street, the Nifty Fifties Diner in my field of vision. As I ran across the crosswalk and approached the diner, I pulled my phone out of my pocket, opening up my messages.

Oh.

Oh no.

_YOUNG LADY WHERE ARE YOU?  
_  
I gulped, pausing in the middle of the sidewalk and leaning against the building next to me.

_**Hey Mom. I told you I had to be somewhere spring break.**__  
_  
_This is unacceptable! Get home now!  
_  
**_I'm kind of 4 hours away. No can do.  
_**  
_JACQUELINE CASTOR WINIFRED!_

I flinched, putting the phone back in my pocket. She never called me by my full name like that. Well, that succeeded in putting me in a shit mood.

I faintly registered a circle of chairs, maybe for a gang, in the small alley next to the diner, but I was too caught up in depression to pay them mind. I got in the diner and slid into a booth, ordering a coffee before laying my head in my arms. The waitress either didn't notice or was a wretched old witch with no sympathy, because she went off to fulfill my order without comment. By the time she had come back, I was sitting up and trying to ignore the constant vibrations of my phone. I didn't want to silence it, in case Raven needed to get a hold of me, but I doubted I could've even told with how many buzzes there were.

I sipped the coffee with as much excitement as a corpse, checking the time on my phone and the sun's position outside. After I lost count of how many people had come and gone in the time I spent sitting there, and it had been dark out for about 10 minutes, I stood. I paid for the coffee, and walked out the door, not in any better a mood than when I walked in. The gang was actually there this time, going on and laughing, but rather than acknowledging them for the lack of last time, I put my hood up and made my way for the Coffin Club.


	10. Going Clubbing

Since I got there so early, the line was actually fairly short. After the five Gothic princes and princesses of the night got in, I yanked my ID out and handed it to the bouncer with confidence, pulling my hood down so he could confirm it was me. He scrutinized the card, finally accepting it and motioning me in. I gave him a nod of thanks and stepped inside, taking off my hoodie and putting it on a coat hook. I grabbed my phone and wallet out and shoved them in my boots, stretching my newly exposed arms and looking around.

I had been to nightclubs before, so nothing really stuck out to me, besides the tables filled with Gothic gear and spooky sales near the dance floor. It was new, but I wasn't too interested. I just wanted to get out of here to go to Aunt Libby's and sleep. I wasn't in a clubbing kind of mood. Funny how just your name can drag your mood down so bad.

The music was loud, but without hundreds of club-goers, it was still quiet enough to where I wouldn't have to yell to be heard. I walked over to the bar, where a bartender who's named tag dubbed him "Romeo" was preparing some kind of red martini for a girl with black hair so long she might has well made her goth alias "Repun-Zed." I tugged my wallet out, pulling out a few bills.

" 'Scuse me," I said, placing money on the counter and glancing up at the "House Specials" board, "I'd like an Execution, virgin as a 30 year old in his Mom's basement, and a little bit of info that you might be able to provide."

"Looking for someone?" He took the money without hesitation, pulling out a glass and preparing my drink. Jeez, what a sell-out. I gave him like fifteen bucks. Remind me not to trust him with any personal info.

"You could say that," I said, sliding into a bar stool and putting my wallet back in my boot, "Name's Alexander Sterling. Comes around here from time to time. Long black hair, brown eyes, spider ring."

Romeo paused for a second, his back turned to me as he reached for a pewter bottle. I couldn't tell what his expression was, but I guessed it was thought. He turned around, looking at me oddly. "I don't know. I might know someone who does, though."

"Seriously?" Well, this was better than expected. Maybe we could get out of here with Alexander sooner, and I could get home and get the unavoidable lecture and punishment out of the way quicker. Romeo nodded, making some sort of gesture to the other bartender and sliding out from behind the counter. He motioned for me to follow, and I jumped off the bar stool, forgetting the drink and following him to wherever he was leading me.

"He's right up there," he said, pointing to a spiral staircase on the right edge of the dance floor. I thanked him, and he gave me a knowing smile, turning around and going back to his post. Ignoring the thudding bass rattling my rib cage, I approached the staircase, unaware of the pair of eyes watching me as I went.

"Supplanter," the psychic said, his golden eyes barely visible from under his hood. I turned my head. Despite the music being near-deafening, I was so close that he didn't need to strain his voice. I wasn't even aware I was passing the tables, I was more unfocused than I thought.

"What?" I asked him, and he shook his head.

"You were meant to take the place of another. Where one is supposed to be, you will arise."

"I don't understand!" Goddamn psychic speak. "What place? Who am I replacing?"

"For these troubles to settle, you must sacrifice yourself in place of another. To plunge yourself in an eternity of darkness, you will save one important to you from a similar fate. Cast peace among all." He closed his eyes and bowed his head, all the body language I needed to know that this was all the help from the netherworld I was going to get. Or something. Let's hope he wasn't just some nutjob, it might've been important. Or the product of crystal meth. Y'know, whatever, right? Since he didn't need money to tell me, I gave it the benefit of the doubt, and tried my best to keep it in mind and made my way to the staircase.

When I reached the top, I first thought it was empty. The balcony overlooked the dance floor, but at first glance, it seemed like I was the only one up here. But once my eyes adjusted to the poor lighting, candles in place of lights, I noticed the figure of someone on the couch near the railing, looking at the dance floor. When I coughed to make my presence known, he turned to me, but I still couldn't make out any features. It was so dark, he was pretty much a silhouette.

"This is a VIP only area," I heard, and immediately I cursed Romeo for throwing me into a tiger's den without so much as a warning.

"Sorry" I said, faking confidence and taking a step closer, "Didn't know it was exclusive up here. Just wanted to enjoy a birds eye view of goths dry humping each other to Marilyn Manson."

It was a risk, since I wasn't sure whether or not he'd take it as an insult. But, to my relief, he chuckled and waved me closer. I accepted the invitation, hoping this was who Romeo expected me to find. If he knew where to find Alexander, then the awkwardness would be well worth it. As I got closer, I took in his appearance, or at least, what the candles on the table in front of him illuminated. His skin was pale, unhealthily so, and his fingernails were painted black. I didn't even entertain the thought of this being a girl, they had an unmistakably male figure.

"So, did you find a calling up here?" He asked as I sat next to him on the couch. I observed him further, ignoring his question for a moment. His hair was a platinum blonde-maybe even white-with blood red tips, and long enough to cover his eyes from my view. He had a metal skeleton earring, and it looked like he had eyebrow piercings, but with his hair in the way, I couldn't be sure.

"A calling in the form of a bartenders directions," I said, fiddling with my bracelets. He turned and looked over the dance floor, and it occurred to me that he wasn't looking me in the eye.

"Ah, so why did you really come up here?"

"I heard you can lead me to someone." Finally, he turned to me, brushing his hair out of his eyes. A bright blue and a neon green greeted me, and almost as soon as our eyes met, I began to feel different. That same, magnetic attraction I was feeling on the way here was ringing in my brain, and I thought I would never stop looking in those eyes.

"Why look for someone else?" he said with an arched brow and a confident smirk, "The only one you need is right here."

[AUTHORS NOTE: Hey guys! Glad you're enjoying the story! Unfortunately, I've kind of hit a block with where to go at this point, sadly just when it was starting to get good! Considering I have over 20 other small stories to pump out on my deviantart, I won't be able to get back to this for a bit of time. Long story short, this story is going on hiatus for a while! Thanks so much for your patience, and thank you for reading!]/div


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